


Breaking Points

by Tamoline



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the invasion, stresses are felt and breaking points make themselves known as new configurations start to form.</p><p>It's not going to be easy, but Pepper and Natasha are going to try and help each other ride out the changes as best they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after [Fractures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/577948) but I'm hesitating about calling it a true sequel. Fractures is very much about exploring Natasha's inner life, and how that evolves over Iron Man 2 and The Avengers. I'm not going to say that said inner life is going to be absent from this story, but it's not the focus. For a start, both Pepper and Natasha are viewpoint characters here.
> 
> Anyone who hasn't read Fractures should probably read that first, though, since Breaking Points very much builds on that tale.

**Natasha POV:**  
  
The day dawns bright and far too early, bringing with it the numb apathy that follows a storm.

I wake and get to my feet anyway.

I have to report into SHIELD. It's what Natasha would do.

I look down at Pepper, still asleep on the bed.

She doesn't stir and I don't wake her.

She needs...

Well.

If I'd been thinking about her needs, we wouldn't be in this mess.

Still.

I can't help running my hand gently over her hair.

There's something invisible running between us, stronger than anything I've felt for...

Stronger than anything I can remember.

It may not be sexual, it may never become sexual, but is that the important thing?

It's still evolving, though, changing.

And as it does so, it leaves me feeling like I'm off balance, like the ground is shifting beneath my feet.

Vulnerable.

I need to...

I need to find my focus.

I need to find my new centre.

But, most of all, I need to contain the damage, minimise the amount of people who know anything.

And, right now, that means acting the way that Natasha would.

There's no paper in the room, nothing to leave a message on, so I message her phone instead.

I'll contact you later, when I can.

 

The longer I spend outside, the closer I get to the local SHIELD headquarters, the more I can feel Natasha try and reassert herself.

Neither of us like exposing anything we don't have to, and just walking through the still shattered streets as myself is far too much like sitting with our back to an open room for her.

So, slowly, I retreat back inside and become her once again.

 

The SHIELD headquarters in New York is a bustling kind of empty. There's enough to do in the mopup that almost no one is here, but the personnel that are present are being rushed off their feet coordinating everything.

(Barton is notable by his absence.)

(Both here and on comms.)

(Probably not a bad idea, for his sake, Natasha can't help thinking.)

(He's a loose end, at the moment.)

(And loose ends make Natasha itch.)

(She prefers to cut them off, whenever possible.)

"Do you have any orders for me?" she asks the head of station, a shortish woman by the name of Ferrara.

Ferrara considers her in between listening to the chatter audibly coming over the comm piece stuck in one ear.

"Fury hasn't given me any orders for you.

(This, Natasha surmised after having logged into her account and having checked her phone for messages.)

(Nothing from Fury, his underlings or her usual handlers.)

(Some kind of dust up in the upper echelons, she surmises.)

(It's not important to her.)

(Not now.)

(But that could change at any moment.)

Romanoff just raises an eyebrow minutely, but doesn't actually repeat her question out loud.

"How are you at search, rescue and recovery," Ferrera says.

It's not quite a question, but Romanoff answers anyway. "They're not exactly my strengths."

(She could do them of course. But so can many other people just as competently, if not better.)

"I haven't got time to look over your shoulder," Ferrara says bluntly. "Find something useful to do."

It's more leeway than a lot of the US-side heads of station would allow her, so Romanoff simply nods and leaves.

(Natasha is a problem solver at heart.)

(And the most obvious problem at the moment is the New York station.)

(It's undermanned and being used as the central depot for a lot of dangerous alien equipment.)

(SHIELD has enemies, and if some were to attempt a break in, just at the moment...)

(Well, this wouldn't be the first security system she's checked over and patched.)

(So it's no surprise that she's the first to spot, well, not exactly the intruder.)

(But the newcomer. She's definitely that.)

(The last place she saw Hill was aboard the Helicarrier.)

(So the question is...)

(What is she doing here?)

(Ferrara is quite competent enough to handle the current situation.)

(So, either there's something new, or...)

(In any case, it's likely to be important. So she goes to meet Hill.)

As soon as Romanoff comes into view, Hill's gaze focusses on her.

(Ah. So.)

"Agent Romanoff?"

Romanoff looks politely inquiring.

"There's been a security breach in one of our facility near Mexico City. Data leak. It's your next assignment."

(Natasha thinks, analyses.)

(Mexico City is just a regional headquarters.)

(There's nothing actually important stored there.)

(Certainly not worth her talents, given her lack of experience with the area.)

(This, this is busy work by another name.)

(Someone thinks she needs time off.)

(Which means Barton has been talking.)

(Damn him.)

((And...))

((And...))

((I don't think I want to leave Pepper.))

((Not at the moment.))

(Natasha takes over, analyses, comes up with options.)

(Rationalisations that don't leave her feeling too exposed.)

"Isn't there a better use for me?"

Hill looks at her blandly. "Did you have another suggestion?" she asks.

(And this is why Natasha is almost willing to forgive Barton for talking.)

(Because if he had to, Hill is the least bad option.)

(She's command, true, but far closer to an agent than a handler.)

(She solves problems. She doesn't handle them.)

"I can think of a few closer to here." Romanoff shrugs. "For one, there's an awful lot of Chitauri tech on the streets of New York. Some is going to slip through the fingers of our retrieval teams. There need to be contingency plans."

Hill raises an eyebrow. "You have some?"

Romanoff almost smiles. "One or two."

 

 **Pepper POV:**  
  
I wake up slowly and lazily.

It's a luxury I don't often get to indulge, which is the only excuse I can muster as to why I don't realise the problem sooner.

Today isn't one of my (rare) days off.

Oh... poot.

As soon as that realisation hits me, I spring out of the bed.

I'm somewhere unfamiliar, but that doesn't strike me as a problem until my eyes fall upon signs that someone else was here.

And that's when it starts coming back to me.

Natasha. Tony. And the whole crazy search across the city.

Poot and, in fact, bullfiffle, to boot.

I check my phone, and wince at the number of messages awaiting me.

It's probably just as well I'm a past mistress of going through them and getting ready at the same time.

Really, when it comes down to it, there are three different types of message I receive. There's the kind I just have to read, and not reply to. There's the kind I can solve using an email or text. And there's the kind I or, worse, Tony needs to speak to someone, even over the phone or in person.

Naturally, there are far too few of the first type, and far too many people who think they should not only be in the third category, but that they need to speak directly to Tony himself.

It's a not inconsiderable part of my job to persuade them otherwise, of course. In general, the company runs more smoothly and the stock prices remain higher when Tony gets to talk to as few people as possible.

Luckily, as long as the supplicant isn't an attractive woman, Tony prefers it that way too.

Which leads me back towards thoughts of Tony-as-boyfriend.

And Natasha.

Oh god.

I'd be lying if I claimed that one of her more attractive qualities wasn't the fact that she was always so quietly supportive.

No drama, never needing anything, just there.

Well, that particular myth had been exploded last night.

But it isn't like I can just turn her away, not now. Like it or not, she's managed to work her way into my heart. And, really, what were the chances of refusing to help a friend in need, anyway?

Not to mention maybe, at some point, more?

How long had I stuck with Tony, after all, and he's never even been the supportive type?

He has his charms, he *definitely* has his charms, but focussing on my needs is not one of them.

And neither is sharing what he's doing, what's going wrong with his world. He always has to put on his facade, as flawless as Natasha's in its way, and he won't let anyone in.

Not even me.

I *know* that you should never go into a relationship wanting to change the other person, but... but apparently I'd been hoping that as we got closer he'd trust me more.

Apparently I'd had expectations.

Maybe even needs in that area.

Well, there's nothing to be done. No matter what else, no matter what happens with Natasha or anyone else, I'm going to have to break up with Tony.

Today.

Or, well, when we were in the same place at the same time, with a modicum of privacy.

Whenever that turns out to be.

First, though, I have a few hundred messages to respond to, a score of requests from Tony I'll automatically put on hold (because a rule of thumb with him is that if he doesn't follow up on it, he didn't really want it anyway) and probably a dozen or so fires to put out.

It's a measure of my life that I just hope those flames aren't literal.

 

Somewhat to my surprise, I manage to find a small break in my schedule that afternoon. Long enough to do a proper check in with Tony, rather than a few words exchanged by email, text or a phone call.

Maybe even long enough to have The Talk with him.

Last I heard, he was holing up in Stark Tower. Given how much trouble it'd taken me to arrange the assembly of a functional workshop there after the invasion, he'd certainly *better* be there.

I try and phone him, but the call goes through to JARVIS instead.

"Is everything okay with Tony?" is the first thing from my lips.

It's not that ignoring his phone isn't typical Tony, but after the last few days I still can't help panicking a little (under the surface, always under the surface) whenever something like this happens.

It's not that I think anything is wrong, but it's just the knowledge that he won't tell me if anything is that causes my heart rate to spike whenever I think about it.

I really can't go on like this.

I can't keep caring so much, not if he's going to keep throwing himself into danger like this, and not even allow me to do *anything,* not even know.

I just can't.

Luckily, "Mr Stark seems to be quite engaged with dismantling a Chitauri drive system," is what JARVIS has to report. "I'll leave to your judgement, ma'am, as to whether fiddling around with unknown alien technology counts as 'okay'."

"Fiddling?" I ask with a smile.

"I do believe that is the technical term," he says dryly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Is he still in the workshop on the fourteenth floor of the Stark Tower?"

"Indeed. Would you like me to put you through to the speaker system? Mr Stark might find it a little harder to ignore you that way."

"Tempting, but let's save that for when I really need it. Can you alert me if he looks like he's leaving?"

"Unless Mr Stark asks me to do otherwise." There's a slight pause, and I'm about to hang up when he continues. "If you are heading there, could you possibly see your way to making sure that Mr Stark disposes of the collection of pizza boxes that he has already managed to acquire?"

"Aren't there far greater affronts to your sense of propriety currently?" I can't help asking. Like, for instance, rubble, broken windows and other signs of disarray.

"The rest of the tower is likely to be restored to its proper condition. in the not too distant future. Thanks mainly due to your efforts, Ms Potts. I fear that I can not be so certain about any space that Mr Stark inhabits for any length of time."

It's hard to tell, but this iteration of JARVIS already seems to be a little more prissy than the one in Malibu, though I've only really noticed it since the attack.

It's a little strange to think about, but apparently even basically identical AIs can develop quirks of their own.

Not that he's wrong, in any case. Areas frequented by Tony during his inspired periods tend to sprout takeout containers on any and all available surfaces given half a chance.

I dread to think what his room must have been like during his university days.

"I'll make sure that it gets handled," I tell JARVIS as soothingly as I can.

"Thank you, Ms Potts," he says.

"Well, if that's all then, I'll be seeing soon," I say, then hang up.

 

There are bullet holes still present in the walls of the building foyer, mute testament to what happened here a few days ago. It's pretty much the last sign still on the ground floor - I made replacing the windows and clearing rubble a priority here.

It isn't as though business has returned to anything like normal yet, but providing as much of the appearance of being normal as possible is still important.

I don't know the guard, but from the uniform he does appear to work for a Stark subsidary, so I make a point of checking his name badge.

Kevin Matthews.

It doesn't mean anything, not yet, but if this is a long term posting for him, that'll hopefully change.

I give him a smile as checks my ID.

He doesn't return it.

I can't help wondering if he knew any of the people on duty when it happened. Appearances aren't everything, but he looks like he might have gotten on with Olivia or Martin, two of the previous holders of his post.

(I wish there was more we could do for their families.)

(All of their families.)

I get in the only elevator that has been cleared for use and press the button for the fourteenth floor. It seems to take an interminable time, made all the worse by the fact that, almost unnaturally, no one gets in or out during the whole ride up.

(I know the reason *why*, of course, but thinking about that doesn't make anything any easier.)

And then, finally, I'm there.

Tony doesn't react to my entrance, bent over the dismantled remnants of what looks like a flyer, poking at its innards with a tool.

I don't disturb him, just move around so I can look at him from the front.

He's in full concentration, nothing-in-the-world-exists-except-me-and-my-project mode, and I can't help smiling a little at the sight. His brow is furrowed, and he's muttering to himself, but his eyes are so *alive*.

All in all, he looks like he's taking it as a personal affront that the flyer hasn't revealed all its secrets to him yet.

"Ahem?" someone clears their throat inquisitively from behind me, and I spin around with something of a yelp to see a mild looking brown haired man standing in one of the open doorways to the lab with his eyebrows raised.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," he continues. "I'm Dr Banner. Bruce, if you don't mind being informal."

I smile at him, trying to pretend that I hadn't just almost jumped out of my skin. "Oh, yes. Tony mentioned you. I'm Pepper, Tony's..." I pause, momentarily. Using the word 'girlfriend' seems a little wrong just at the moment, considering. "Assistant at large," I finish, using the title I used to use when being a little informal.

"Pleased to meet you," Bruce returns.

I can't help noticing that he doesn't say that Tony has mentioned me. Probably because he hasn't, I can't help thinking, with a certain amount of fond exasperation. There had obviously been science to do.

I turn back to look at Tony, who still hasn't reacted to any of this.

The science bug really has bitten him hard this time.

I make a mental note to make sure that he's eating and sleeping properly.

(And, no, endless pizza does *not* count.)

More accurately, I make a note to tell JARVIS to keep an eye on him, when Tony can't overhear.

He might be seemingly oblivious to me right now, but he has a bad habit of paying attention to the most inconvenient things. And I don't want him telling JARVIS to ignore my request.

"Tony," I say instead, then "Tony!" a little bit more firmly when he still doesn't look up.

"Just a minute," he says absently, then jabs a tool into a panel into the interior of the flyer. There's a pop and a crack, but then nothing happens and I find myself releasing a breath I hadn't known that I'd taken.

He finally looks up and sees me, grinning in a way that lights up his whole face. "Pepper! Pep! Glad to see you could make it over here." He glances over, sees Bruce. "This is Bruce, an expert in all kinds of useful matters involving radiation and other green things." Bruce winces a little, but gamely gives me a little wave anyway. "Bruce, this is Pepper. Girlfriend and all round star doer of things that need to be done."

Bruce raises his eyebrows just a little at the word 'girlfriend' but merely says, "We've been introduced."

Tony comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. It's already so dirty, though, that it's a little hard to tell whether it's having any effect, or just spreading the grime around a little more evenly.

"Uh uh," I say as he reaches for me. "I'm not letting you touch me with those hands until they've had a much better cleanse."

"How about a kiss?" he asks, negotiating. "Is my mouth too dirty for a kiss?"

I can't helping rolling my eyes a little. "Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"I think I'm going to have to insist," he says, almost laughing, as he lunges forward, claiming my mouth with his.

For a moment, it's so good, I just take pleasure in the sensation, the heat of it.

For a moment, it's so good, I forget everything.

For a moment, it's so good I forget why I'm here.

And then it all comes crashing back.

No matter how good this is, no matter how good he makes me feel, I can't do this any more.

I just can't.

And the thought, the determination to end this, tears me apart once again.

Not that I let this show.

Not that I can ever let this show.

I push him back, and he looks at me with a confused expression on his face. "Pep?" he asks.

I turn around so I can see Bruce. "Could you leave us alone for a while?"

Bruce glances between me and Tony, nods and says, "Sure."

When he's disappeared from view, I look back towards Tony, and take a breath. "Tony," I say. "I think we need to break up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate feedback to see if anyone is interested in me continuing this story. Obviously, it's going to be a very different beast to Fractures, and not nearly so self contained, so I'd like to see if anyone thinks I should write more, or just let Fractures be its own tale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Natasha POV:**  
  
The Black Widow doesn't so much walk as *slide* into the bar.

She's hardly invisible, but her movements don't attract attention, don't draw the eye, carefully blend into the background noise of the joint.

It's just professionalism, habit really. She's not here to cause trouble, or be remembered, so she automatically does her best to make sure that she isn't.

There's a few staff on duty behind the bar, but she focuses on the one she's interested in, a bald man, with muscle running to fat.

"Hey," she says, pitching her voice towards him, adding just enough of a crack to ensure it gets his attention.

He scowls and then really looks in her direction for the first time since she entered the bar.

The Black Widow can't help finding it a little... satisfying to see him pale a little when he recognises her.

They had such a *fun* time during their first meeting. It's good to see that she left an impression.

"What can I do for you?" he asks, his usual tough guy person mixing with a clear desire not to be impolite.

Good boy.

She hands him a card wrapped in a hundred dollar bill. "Tell Johnny that the Black Widow has a proposition for him, will you? You'll find my number on the card."

He nods. Twice.

"Thank you," she tells him sweetly, and leaves the bar.

(This time there are maybe a few more eyes on her, drawn by the barman's reaction, but that's okay.)

(Drawing a certain level of attention is well within mission parameters.)

(But making sure that no one thinks she's gone soft?)

(That's key.)

 

The expected call comes a few hours later.

(Natasha has spent that time mentally going over her old persona, making sure that there are no cracks, no flaws, that she remembers everything.)

(It's the Black Widow, the thing she should be able to be even without thinking.)

(But in light of recent events...)

(Better safe than sorry.)

((And maybe, just maybe, I've been feeling the absolutely unnecessary urge to check Romanoff's phone far more than necessary.))

((Not that anyone from SHIELD would contact me that way.))

((But Pepper might, and it's a thought that seems to have burrowed its way into me and won't let go.))

(The phone rings, everything shuts down. Nothing is left except the Black Widow, and Natasha, watching.)

"Yes?" she says crisply into the phone.

"This the Widow?" asks Johnny's voice.

"What do you think?"

"I hear you have something you want to say to me."

"In person."

"I'm a busy man nowadays. This gonna be worth my while?"

"You'll want to meet me as quickly as you can."

"Huh," he says. "Okay. Meet me in the backroom of The Night's Kiss tonight at 10. That quick enough for you?"

"It'll have to do," she tells him, and hangs up.

 

The club is heaving, providing great cover for an insertion.

Of course, it could easily turn messy if things go wrong, but that really isn't on the menu of tonight's planned activities.

She recognises the men on the door to the private room.

Apparently as Johnny has risen in the world, so have his favoured goons.

The Black Widow smiles coldly at the one on the left, Mac, who shifts in turn, reaching for his gun, but doesn't actually draw it.

(It's a good sign, Natasha can't help thinking.)

(If Johnny is actually planning anything, Mac at least would be far more jumpy.)

She opens the door to reveal a smoky room with four people in.

Johnny and his right hand man, Kyle, are sitting down on a plush looking sofa.

Two more men are doing their best to loom against one wall.

They all look like victims.

But victims with a use. Currently.

"Black Widow," Johnny says. "How're you doing?"

"Fine."

He gestures around the room. "Told you I'd moved up in the world."

It's true, as far as it goes. The floor is clean, the seats don't look tacky to the touch and the drinks he's got look like they're worth ten times more than the swill she remembers him drinking.

The only thing remotely relevant is that she might be able to deal with him directly, rather than using him to snag the attention further up the food chain.

"Impressive," she says dryly.

"So, you have a proposition for me."

"If you can handle it."

"Lay it on me."

"I've come across the location of where the government is storing all those weapons from the invasion they've been seizing."

Technically, it's where SHIELD is storing them, but Johnny doesn't need to be lectured on the difference.

He leans forwards a little. "Yeah? What good's that to me?"

"I can secure them. But I'm going to need transport for the goods and someone who can sell them on." She gives him a chill little smile. "You know someone who can do that, Johnny?"

He sits back, brow wrinkled in thought. "That's a lot to lay on a guy all at once. I'm gonna have to check the angles and get back to you."

"It's a time limited offer. You've got a day before I find someone else."

He looks at her, assessingly, before asking what's probably the most important question to him. "What's your slice of this going to be? Percentage or straight?"

"I'm not planning on sticking around. I want two million, on receipt."

His eyes widen. "Two million? Where am I going to get that kind of cash in a few days?"

She shrugs. "Not my problem. There were about two hundred weapons seized. Not a monopoly, but close. If you can't make more than ten times that, maybe I should go and find someone else right now."

"There's going to be serious heat from this," he argues.

"The city's a wreck at the moment. Everyone's busy. And, again, if you don't think you can handle this..."

"Alright, alright," he says. "Let me think about this. I'll get back to you."

"Remember, Johnny. One day." Black Widow gives him a cold smile, then turns and walks out of there.

No one follows her.

Apparently none of Johnny's crew are quite that stupid.

Good.

The lesson she inflicted upon him when they first worked together obviously stuck.

 

There's a message waiting for her when she gets back to her temporary accommodation.

It's from Pepper.

She wants to meet up and talk.

Black Widow disappears upon reading the message, leaving Romanoff behind.

((And a slightly ill feeling, like I've being swimming in shit.))

((Which isn't entirely inappropriate.))

(The flux that Pepper's message causes gives Natasha a slight headache.)

(Black Widow was retired, true.)

(But that doesn't mean that she can't be useful, still, from time to time.)

(Under carefully controlled circumstances.)

(Natasha is ice, perfect, untouchable.)

(Black Widow isn't.)

(It's part of the Black Widow persona to *enjoy* the things she does.)

(Did.)

(Does no longer.)

(Unless it becomes necessary.)

((And I can't help feeling a little ill all over again at Natasha's thought.))

(Fine.)

(It appears that there's no avoiding Pepper.)

(She needs to get this out of her system, tonight.)

(Because she's not going to be able to afford distractions tomorrow.)

And Romanoff replies, texting that she'll be over as quickly as she can.

 

 **Pepper POV:**  
  
For a moment, all he can do is stare at me.

"Could you repeat that?" he finally asks me. "Because I'm fairly sure that I got that wrong."

Well, that went down slightly better than I expected, I guess. He did at least acknowledge that I'd said *something*.

"I think we need to break up," I repeat.

"That's what I thought you said," he says, looking past me and into the distance for a second.

For a moment he looks *so* vulnerable and *so* hurt that I almost take my words back.

But I can't.

"No," he says, jumping up onto his feet. "You can't mean that. We were working so well together! We had *chemistry*, Pep! You can't deny the chemistry."

Even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, grease inexplicably smeared across one side of his face, he's still stunning, magnetic.

And he's certainly oh-so-good in bed.

If all I wanted to do was sleep with him, I probably wouldn't be breaking up with him.

But I'm at a point in my life where I want more, where I deserve more.

Natasha's shockingly vulnerable eyes flash in front of me briefly, but I can't go there, can't let myself even think about that yet.

Quite apart from anything else, simply a desire to help someone does not a relationship make.

Especially when I have no idea who she'll be afterwards.

I doubt she does either.

I sigh. "The chemistry is not the problem, Tony."

"Then what is it? We can fix it, whatever it is."

And the thing is, I'm fairly sure that he means it at the moment.

He always means well, when he thinks about it.

I just...

I just need more constancy in my life.

I need someone I can trust, as well as be trusted by, in addition to all the other complications, like being good with my insane schedule and need to fly out to various parts of the world at a moment's notice.

"I can't ask you to change," I say softly.

I'm not sure I believe you can, I don't say.

For a moment, he looks shattered, but then just determined. "I can change, Pep. Sometimes, I think all I've done for the last few years is change. Stop making weapons? Done. Start working for the greater good? Likewise. Become more than a spoiled brat? Even Captain America admits that I'm a hero. I can change, Pep. I can."

He's so earnest, it's hard not to believe him, even against my better judgement.

"You shut me out, Tony. You've always shut me out. And when I was just your PA, that was fine." No matter how much it made me worry, no matter how it emphasised what our relationship really was. "But I can't be in a relationship where my partner keeps me out of the major things in their life."

"Is this about being poisoned by my implant? Because I thought you said that I'd done enough grovelling for that. And we weren't even going out then."

"It's a good example of what I'm talking about, but, no, I wasn't talking about that. It's-"

"Was it about the time that I disappeared for a few days?" he interrupts, another less than endearing habit of his. "I thought you agreed that case of industrial espionage had been a top priority."

"I'm not sure why you couldn't tell me about that you weren't going to turn up to the presentation to the board ahead of time," I say a little heatedly. I may have been more resigned than angry at the time, but apparently I had minded more than I had thought. "And-"

"Plausible deniability," he cuts in again. "If you honestly didn't know what was up, no one else would think there was anything strange about me blowing it off."

I can only stare at him furiously in response, waiting for him to finish. His manic need to try to analyse and fix everything, usually one of his foibles that I regard with fond resignation, is really beginning to get to me.

"If you're trying to remind me of the other problems in our relationship," I tell him after he's ground to a halt. "You're doing a remarkable job of showing me that you really don't give a damn about what I have to say. And, while, yes, starting a one man investigation into the problem was one way to fix it, if you'd involved me, we could have found another way to accomplish the same goal. One that didn't involve making my life harder with the board, and also didn't involve almost a million dollars worth of property damage when you decided to take them in."

"Using Iron Man gave the company a lot of good press."

"Not *every* problem has to be solved by the over application of technology," I retort, take a breath and then continue in a softer tone. "And even this isn't the real problem, the thing that made me want to call this off. You took on an alien invasion, Tony. Just yourself and a few others. You could have easily died, and you didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye." I see him start to wave off the possibility, and my voice hardens again. "You almost did die, and don't lie to me about it. You took control of a nuke, and saved everyone in New York. That makes you a hero. But, though you had time to talk to your friends, when you phoned me, you didn't even say anything." I can't meet his gaze any longer, and let it drop down a little. "I can handle a lot of things, Tony. But I can't handle this, being kept out of the loop."

"Oh," says Tony, sounding small and hurt. "Oh. It's hard for to let anyone in, Pepper. You know that. I mean, you've managed to get past more of my shields than pretty much anyone else. And I'll try to get you the rest of the way in, Pep, but it's hard." He smiles, a little bitterly. "I've always been a bit of an emotional fuckup, haven't I? I just need time to get my shit in order. You can give me time, can't you, Pep?"

I feel like I'm being pulled apart at the seams, like Tony's pulling on the part of me that's been there for him for years, that's helped him out of countless messes, that loved him hopelessly far before I ever let myself admit it.

It'd be so easy to just give in, to just ignore the problems we've been having and let him have his time.

But I can't.

I just can't.

And so I shake my head numbly instead.

"Look," he says, and he's still using that quiet, almost uncertain voice that is *so* not Tony. "We've still got some functions that we're supposed to attend together in the next week or two." He gives me an almost impish smile. "I'm fairly certain the person who masterminds the Stark publicity machine wouldn't be at all pleased if we publically announced our breakup before those at least."

I can't help shooting him a look. He's right, of course - as his PA I'd be most displeased if he ever broke a prearranged evening out with someone.

But that doesn't make it any easier to swallow that Tony, of all people is trying to use propriety against me.

"Just give me until the last of them before finalising breaking up with me, okay? It isn't like we wouldn't be spending much of the time together anyway."

There's an art to managing Tony, an art I've had to master over the long years of working for him.

It doesn't *matter* to him how inappropriate it is to use my job against me in this fashion.

If I refuse him, he'll just find some even more awkward way of getting what he wants, where I can't easily refuse him.

And, god damn it, he's looking at me with that hopeful boyish expression of his, that makes it really hard to turn him down.

All in all, I sigh to myself, I know that it's far better to work with him and try and guide what kind of trouble he gets me into, then let him come up with it all by himself.

"Okay," I say. "You've got until then."

He grins at me, and leans forward to kiss me.

"Uh-uh," I say, stepping backwards. "You've yet to earn that privilege back, mister."

He pouts. "But people will be expecting it."

"Then I might allow 'people' to see some kisses. In public. *This*, however, is not public."

The pout deepens, theatrically.

"Anyway," I say, before he can try anything else. "I've still got a million things to organise. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"In San Diego," he confirms in a kind of automatic why-is-Pepper-making-me-do-this glumness. Then he grins at me, even if I can see the fractures in it. "Prepare to be amazed."

"I look forward to it," I say to him sceptically. And then I follow that train of thought Tony-style and quickly add, "Overdoing things does not gain you any extra points. And definitely no big displays."

From his expression, I interpreted him correctly.

I leave quickly, before I can get sucked in any further, but the elevator down gives me plenty of time to think.

I've prided myself on being the girl who can handle Tony for... far too long.

It's what I've known for.

To a depressing extent, it's how I think of myself.

Because it's the one unique thing no one else has ever been able to do.

But this, this break up.

It's going to affect things.

And I'm not sure I'll be able to keep him on the rails, especially if I don't want to be sucked back into a relationship with him.

Because he's not going to leave things.

He's *Tony*, for better, for worse.

I know this like I know the back of my hand.

The only problem is, the only option that I can think of is making a break of it in more ways than one.

But if I'm not the girl who handles Tony, who am I?

Luckily, around that point, the elevator pings and I'm in the lobby.

I wave goodbye to Kevin, then I bury myself in my phone and laptop on the way to my next meeting.

If there's one good thing about this job, it's that if you really don't want to think about something, it sure gives you a lot of distractions.

 

I surface again around 10 at night, when I finally finish knocking some heads together on the west coast.

I stretch, and realise, as I decompress from work mode, that I haven't heard from Natasha all day.

I hope that she's, well, as alright as she's going to get.

I need to check on her.

And, after the day I've had, I'd just like to unwind in her presence.

Assuming she hasn't got something more important to do, of course.

Or that she just doesn't want to see me for a while.

I text her, asking if she'd like to come over.

There's no immediate answer, so I put the phone to one side, and work on getting ahead of my schedule for tomorrow.

Until she responds, or it hits midnight. Whichever comes first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pepper POV:**  
  
The entrance buzzer goes off, and I'm there almost before the sound actually registers.  
  
Even if I don't know quite what's happening with Natasha, my subconscious apparently has its own ideas.  
  
Her voice, her *normal voice*, comes through the panel clearly. "Can I come up?"  
  
I can't help smiling wryly. "Can I stop you?"   
  
I'm fairly sure my building's security couldn't stop little miss superspy.  
  
"Always," she replies simply, and it's such a difference to... to what I'm used to that I almost can't respond.  
  
She's someone I can say no to, about the little things as well as the big, no drama or production.  
  
"Well," I say after a moment. "Now that I've asked you over here, I can hardly turn you away. It'd send all kinds of mixed messages."  
  
"And you wouldn't want that."  
  
"I do pride myself on being an excellent communicator," I say and buzz her in.  
  
A minute or so later, and I'm near the front door, waiting for her knock. It comes, and I open the entrance to my apartment, with a smile on my face that's only a little tired.  
  
There she is, there she stands, confident and reserved, so quintessentially *Natasha* that I almost miss the slight flinch that crosses her face.  
  
(Except the confidence and the reserve isn't her, not really. It's just... it's just so hard to remember that, remember that my unconscious model of her is hollow at best.)  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask, cautiously, not wanting to approach or move away, worried that whatever I do will be the wrong thing.  
  
I see her eyes flick from side to side, almost too quickly to perceive, a taking in of the surroundings that I sometimes catch her do when she moves into a new environment.  
  
It's something I've seen various of the better security people do, a way of evaluating the threats in an unknown situation.  
  
It's something I saw her do last night, when I confronted her first at her apartment, then at the SHIELD lodgings.  
  
"Nothing," she says.  
  
Is that what we are now?  
  
An unknown situation?  
  
I guess it's a not entirely incorrect metaphor.  
  
But it's one I'm uncomfortable with.  
  
"Come in," I tell her, stepping backwards, allowing her room.  
  
It's the right thing to do.   
  
I think.  
  
Even now, after having gotten to know her for months, giving me the clues she does (and, I'm beginning to believe, the clues she *can*) it's so hard to tell.  
  
She moves forward and shuts the door behind her, regarding me with a tilt to her head and a slight smile on her lips. "Shall we advance as far as the living room?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
After we sit down, on different chairs, there's a moment of silence. Despite everything, it's a little awkward. I'm trying to figure out what I can say, and Natasha... Natasha is being herself.  
  
"So," I say finally. "What's wrong?"  
  
What's wrong at the *moment*.  
  
"Out there?" she asks. There's a momentary pause, and I see a flicker of *something* pass through her eyes. I don't get a good enough look to guess what it might be, but even that is far more than she usually allows me. "You opened the door without checking who it was first. It..." she pauses again, uncharacteristically, then adds, "Makes me nervous."  
  
Her words are too much like every other criticism I've ever received, and I can't help reacting. Especially when it's coming from her. "I'm not going to live my life like some paranoid shut-in, Natasha," I say, then regret my words a little, and try softening them a little with a smile. "Besides, if someone is really out to get me, that's not going to save me."  
  
"I'm not your security expert," Natasha says with a shrug. "You don't have to follow my advice. It... just made me nervous."  
  
Again with the pause. Though at least I no longer feel like I'm failing some kind of test, and I can now think more clearly about what she's actually saying. "Why haven't you said anything about this before? Answering the door like that isn't exactly new for me."  
  
There's another flicker, and I can see her tightening her jaw slightly. On most people, it wouldn't be much. With her, the contrast to her usual smooth exterior is vivid. "I'm not here to protect you. And it hasn't been my place. Not that it is now. But the distinction seems less important. Sorry."  
  
Well, I guess with any best friend you've got to expect a few foibles. And a little unsolicited security advice - as long as it stays just advice - is a lot better than some tics I can think of. Besides, and I can't help feeling warm at the thought, it shows she cares.  
  
I can't help reaching over to grab her hand. "Maybe I *should* hire you as my security consultant, then, Ms Romanoff."  
  
Her facade becomes flawless once again. "I doubt you could afford me, Ms Potts."  
  
"I don't know. Let me see what benefits I can throw in to sweeten the deal." And then reality comes crashing in. "Though they'd be severely limited at the moment. Breaking up with Tony... didn't go as smoothly as I might have wished."  
  
"Oh?" she says levelly, in exactly the same tone of voice she used to threaten Justin Hammer.  
  
"Um, nothing like that." I'm not sure exactly what is running through her head, but I feel fairly safe claiming that. "It's just... I haven't actually managed to break up with him yet. Officially. Sorry," I add, feeling my own need to apologise.  
  
"That's alright," she says. "You have to do what's best for you."  
  
It almost makes it worse, that she isn't angry or at least annoyed, disappointed that I didn't do what I set out to do.  
  
It almost makes it worse that she gives no sign that she ever expected anything different.  
  
Am I really that much of a predictable walkover, when it comes to Tony?  
  
"I'm not saying it's what I *wanted*," I say a little tightly. "It's just... being Tony's girlfriend is a professional, as well as personal thing. There are certain commitments that it's hard to back out from, without making a fuss."  
  
"Stark's never had a problem with creating a fuss in the past," she observes, and shifts once again, her voice becoming a little more clipped and dispassionate, her posture becoming more upright. Of all places, I recognise some of these signs from when she was Natalie, giving an analysis on the inner workings of Stark International.  
  
I can't help wondering who amongst her multitudes this is.  
  
"*Tony* doesn't want to break up at all."  
  
"I see," she says, and I can almost see the cogs whirring behind her eyes.  
  
"I can handle this myself," I interject before her thought processes have a chance to go anywhere. Both because, well, this *is* my problem, and my pride won't let anyone else handle it, but also because I strongly suspect that I'll be greatly tempted to take her up on any solution before this is over. Not having any of them on the table seems the safest for all concerned.  
  
Especially Tony.  
  
"I never thought otherwise," she says, sounding a little... offended?  
  
"Thanks," I say, and give her a smile.  
  
I think it works - she settles back in what seems to be her default posture,  
  
"Apart from that," I say, "My day was consumed with trying to organise as many things in New York as possible, as well as my usual workload." Oh, and I'd forgotten to arrange for Tony's lab to get cleared up, as per JARVIS' request.  
  
Well, forgotten and had other things on my mind.  
  
I made a mental note to have a word with Julia in Facilities tomorrow.  
  
Not that the staff there didn't have *enough* to do, but keeping the AI who ran the building sweet was never a bad idea.  
  
"If you don't mind," I begin cautiously, feeling like I'm tiptoeing my way into a minefield. "What was your day like?"  
  
She'd disappeared before I woke up, so I have no idea what she was like this morning.  
  
And though she seems more or less fine now, I'm not sure how much that actually means.  
  
She meets my gaze for a moment, then seems to crumble, just a little, becoming less the omni-competent agent, less guarded.  
  
"Fine," she says.  
  
But she doesn't look like someone who's had a good or even average day.  
  
"I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing yesterday. I was just worried about you."  
  
She smiles a little, but I can see the cracks. "I think... I think you did the right thing. Or at least the necessary thing. Otherwise I'd already be gone from this country."  
  
There's yet another pause, the same kind she used last night, when she was telling me about her childhood, about the things that hurt her, the things that made her, the things that are important to her.  
  
I suddenly want to hold her so much, comfort her, thank her for letting me in this far that I reach out towards her instinctively.  
  
She freezes, looking at my hand as if it's a viper.  
  
Stupid. *Stupid.*  
  
She's not a touchy feely person, at least not with me.   
  
(And there's a small, jealous part of me that can't help wondering if she's like that with anyone else.)   
  
(Like Clint.)   
  
And it's not like having shared some trauma with me is going to change that any time soon.  
  
"Sorry," I say apologetically, and scrunch my limbs up unthreateningly on my own chair.  
  
"Not a problem," she says, even though it clearly is.   
  
I guess it's a measure of how much trust she has in me that she lets me see her lying.  
  
"It's just..." she says. "I'm on a mission. And I have to pretend to be a bad person, a person I tried to leave behind a long time ago."   
  
And this time it's her who reaches towards me, one hand effortlessly finding mine, resting atop it.  
  
  
 **Natasha POV:**  
  
I had been trained to be cold, emotionless, perfect.  
  
That's what they had wanted.  
  
That's what they had got.  
  
Natasha.  
  
She completed the missions.  
  
She was the one who suffered the injuries.  
  
(Physical, of course. Natasha didn't have emotions that could be hurt.)  
  
She was the one was given far too little time to recover before moving onto the next objective.  
  
Not that she cared.  
  
To slow down was to die.  
  
And Natasha didn't believe in letting anything stop her, not even death.  
  
Then Glasnost came. A time when anything was for sale.   
  
Weapons.  
  
Resources.  
  
Even people.  
  
And her handler of the time had decided to get in on the action.  
  
Soon Natasha was being handed targets of a different type, ones given to her courtesy of one of the local Bratva.  
  
Objectives that took her all over the world, a mobile dealer of death, performing contracts for the highest bidder.  
  
But Natasha wasn't good enough.  
  
They didn't want an emotionless killer.  
  
It may have been clean.  
  
It may have been efficient.  
  
It may have been practical.  
  
But, as she was sent to liaise with more and more criminals, it was no longer *enough*.  
  
They wanted a certain level of mystique, a certain level of threat, a certain level of sadism that Natasha simply didn't have.  
  
And so the Black Widow was born.  
  
(And even if she'd had that designation before, it never had the same meaning afterwards.)   
  
(Not to her.)  
  
(As a useful side effect, it also served to dissuade the locals from attempting to sample the goods.)  
  
(Black Widow was an asset, a useful one.)   
  
(And they weren't going to let her get damaged.)  
  
(Besides, being tasted in that way would have harmed her image.)  
  
(And that would never do.)  
  
(Not that Natasha would let them, in any case.)  
  
(But they *believed* that the Black Widow wouldn't let them.)  
  
A few years later, things tightened up in Russia, the scheme was discovered and her handler was caught.  
  
She never saw him again.  
  
But the Black Widow persisted.  
  
It was deemed... useful to have access to those contacts, home and abroad.  
  
So she continued to be hired out, now and again.   
  
And when she did so, when she was Black Widow, she always killed with a smile.  
  
(Until Barton.)  
  
(Until SHIELD.)  
  
  
 **Pepper POV:**  
  
After last night, I wouldn't have believed that there was anything else.  
  
That there couldn't have been anything else.  
  
Wasn't beating the self-worth out of a young girl, turning her from a person into a thing, enough?  
  
Did they really have to go that one step further?  
  
Apparently so.  
  
Oh, Natasha.  
  
Again, the urge to hold her, to try and make it better, somehow, almost overwhelms me.  
  
But this time I don't succumb.  
  
I can't take this from her.  
  
If she wants to hold me, if she wants me to hold her, she can let me.  
  
But I *can't* take one more thing away from her.  
  
Not this.  
  
Not this.  
  
"Is there anything I can do?" I ask, my voice rasping a little with unshed tears.  
  
She looks at me in what appears to be surprise. "No. It's in the past. Why would I need your help?"  
  
Why indeed?  
  
Before I can say anything, though, she continues, in a slightly quieter tone. "Yes. You can help. You are helping." Her grip tightens on my hand. Her choice, not mine. "The Black Widow is... useful for my current mission. I shouldn't mind being her. Natasha would say that it makes no sense."  
  
"But you do?" I prompt.  
  
"I do," she confirms. "She makes me feel unsettled, unclean. But you make me feel better." She takes a breath, releases it. "Thank you."  
  
Her walls visibly go up as she collects herself.  
  
"Sorry," she says, easily, smoothly Natasha again. "You really shouldn't have seen that." She gives me a half smile. "You have enough problems of your own."  
  
I snort. "Nothing like that, Natasha. I mean, god. Nothing like that. You're my friend. What kind of person would I be if I didn't do anything I could to help anyway I can? There *isn't* anything else I can do, is there?"  
  
She shrugs. "I'm really not that important."  
  
"You are to me," I say fiercely. "You mean so much to me." The need to hold her resurfaces. "Can I hug you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
I scrunch up my face in irritation. "I mean: would you like me to? Forget about what I might want - what would you like?"  
  
There's a moment when her walls fall down, when she looks almost open again.  
  
Just a moment.  
  
But she nods.  
  
And I move over to her chair, place my arms around her, and hug her as hard as I can.  
  
Oh, Natasha.  
  
I feel so helpless. For all my training, all my preparation, I simply have no idea about what I can do for her, this beautiful, flawed woman in front of me.  
  
And all I can think at the moment is - thank you.   
  
Thank you for letting me get this close to you.  
  
Thank you for choosing me, of all people, to try and help.  
  
It's selfish and crazy and completely unworthy of her.  
  
And, oh, Natasha.  
  
But - "Thank you," I murmur into her hair.  
  
At that, she pushes me back a little, and looks deep into my eyes, as if trying to look for some kind of answer. "You really don't have to do that," she says. "Thanking me. If anything, it should be the other way around."  
  
"You deserve someone so much better than me," is all I can think to say in response.  
  
Because, oh, Natasha.  
  
She keeps staring into my eyes, as if lost, then, slowly, draws our mouths together, before washing me away with a kiss.  
  
It's not a romantic kiss.  
  
It's not the kind of kiss you'd give a lover.  
  
It's pure passion, pure connection, pure desperation.  
  
It's the kind of kiss that says 'Here I am, and I'm not letting you go.'  
  
It's the kind of kiss that says 'Please don't let me go.'  
  
And. I. Am. In. *So.* Much. Trouble.  
  
Because I don't think there's any way I'm walking away from this after a kiss like that.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Natasha POV** :  
  
Talking to Pepper is like a release - the foulness, the blackness, flooding out of me like a torrent. Leaving me - not cleansed, never that - but purged, empty.  
  
Talking to Pepper is like holding onto an anchor - she gives me something to hold onto, a tether to keep me safe, a rock to cling to, a still place where I can at least begin to think about my life.  
  
It's not easy - for so long, I've always had the unconscious assumption that what I had was *normal*.  
  
It takes the reflection in her horrified eyes to really bring it home that it wasn't.  
  
Logically, I've known that it isn't.  
  
Most people aren't prepared in the ways that I was.  
  
Most people are weak, untempered.  
  
Most people wouldn't survive.  
  
I'm not most people - I'm special.   
  
A specialist tool, finely crafted, for a singular purpose.  
  
But...  
  
One of the lessons they taught in manipulation, the lessons that I learned so well is -  
  
Everyone on some level believes they are normal. That everyone else works the same way they do.  
  
And Natasha, for all her many virtues, is nowhere near self-reflective enough to ever apply that to herself.  
  
Quite simply, it didn't affect the mission, so it didn't matter.  
  
And now...  
  
And now, I've exposed enough for one night.  
  
Too much, really.  
  
And now I have to get out of here before the tide turns.  
  
Before the reality of what I've revealed here tonight can really sink in.  
  
Before the numbness fades and everything rushes back in.  
  
Even now, I can see it on the horizon, a wall of water heading straight for me.  
  
Under its impact, even Natasha is going to shatter.  
  
Between the part of her that accepts Pepper, that values her, that even considers part of my greater whole.  
  
The part that was disturbed by her answering the door the way she did, because a danger to Pepper has become a danger to us.  
  
And the other part. The part that considers Pepper a liability, a weakness.  
  
Because she is, she really is.   
  
Before her, before the last few nights, there was no one that could make me question myself quite like she can.  
  
Could make me have concerns, priorities, apart from the mission.  
  
It's a flaw.  
  
She causes, is causing, imperfections in even Natasha.  
  
She's a threat.  
  
And Natasha has always known how to deal with threats.  
  
I have to leave.  
  
*Now.*  
  
I duck down and twist away from the gentle hold one of Pepper's hands has established on the back of my head, and disengage my hand from the grip of the other before she can react. I'm almost at the door before she can so much as say a single word.  
  
"Natasha?"  
  
The tone is... concerned.  
  
And it's, somehow, enough to hold me.  
  
For the moment.  
  
I can hear her moving quietly in stockinged feet; track her by the itch in the back of my head.  
  
But even though I can't move forward, I also can't look behind.  
  
Because if I do so, I can't help thinking that I'll be caught, lost, ensnared until the pressure builds and there's nothing I can do except scream.  
  
And I don't scream.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asks softly, from a distance of almost four feet behind me.  
  
Not enough to save her if Natasha lashes out, I can't help thinking.  
  
"I have to leave," I tell the door.  
  
There's a momentary pause. "Are you going to be alright?"  
  
As soon as she's away from her, one part of her ((me)) thinks.  
  
But even as she does so, another part knows that's a lie.  
  
She's not going to be alright at all.  
  
Not until she ((I)) has defined this new reality, about who she is now.  
  
((And the most worrying thing, the scariest thing, is that they both sound like Natasha.))  
  
((And if there are two Natashas, who I do follow?))  
  
((Who is perfect?))  
  
((Who can keep me safe?))  
  
((Who can I trust, when both of them answer 'Me!'))  
  
"Yes," Natasha, one of them, replies, in a clipped tone, rubbed raw and exposed by the events of the night. "I require some time by myself."  
  
"Are you coming back?"  
  
"Not tonight," Natasha says, then relents and answers the unspoken question as well. "Maybe not for the next few days. Business. But I will see you again."  
  
Natasha, both of them, cannot help but know this to be true.  
  
"Take care, then," Pepper says, and Natasha *feels* her approach, freezes as the battle between the two halves keeps her locked in place, until Pepper presses a kiss to the back of her head, releasing her.  
  
"I would ask you that you do the same," one Natasha asks.  
  
Unfortunately, the other one thinks.  
  
  
 **Pepper POV** :  
  
The night time darkness fills my room, the only illumination the lights from the city filtering through my curtains.  
  
It's enough to make out what might be my ceiling, or just my memory crossed with my imagination.  
  
It's hard to tell.  
  
I should be asleep.  
  
I should have gone to sleep several hours ago, but I haven't been able to rest, haven't been able to let go enough even to close my eyes for long.  
  
It's not that I got a lot of sleep last night, or that much any night since the invasion.  
  
And there're a thousand things vying for my attention, at least a hundred of which I'm going to have to get sorted later today.  
  
But none of them are what're circling through my head on repeat.  
  
Natasha.  
  
On the surface smooth and efficient and even affectionate in her own unique way.   
  
Running hot and running cold underneath, once I managed to scratch deep enough.  
  
Just running a lot of the time, I can't help thinking.  
  
I can't help worrying about her, worrying whether or not I'm doing the right thing and whether there even is a right thing to do.  
  
And I can't help thinking that some time away from SHIELD, to find herself, might be the best thing she could do.  
  
And Tony.  
  
My crush, turned to love, burned out and become...  
  
I don't know.  
  
I don't want to lose him as a friend, but he's so... Tony that I'm not sure there's another option for us just yet.  
  
Maybe I should just leave him and the company as soon as I can, make the break clean and painless as possible.  
  
And leave all the other people behind, Happy and JARVIS and Julia and Kevin and...  
  
I sigh, and examine the ceiling once again.  
  
This decision, these decisions.  
  
They don't just affect me.  
  
Not even just me and Natasha, me and Tony.  
  
They have consequences, ripples flowing outwards.  
  
I contemplate the ceiling again, and note, to my dismay, that I can see a bit more than the last time I checked.  
  
Dawn is rapidly approaching.  
  
And I've still got a thousand things to think about, and a hundred things to decide.  
  
  
 **Natasha POV** :  
  
Dawn arrives.  
  
Natasha wakes, flicks her eyes open, considers.  
  
In the morning light, things are simple.  
  
There is the mission, and nothing else that's important at the moment.  
  
Johnny won't be up yet, not for several hours at least.  
  
Black Widow would at least give him until midday before requiring a decision.  
  
She checks both phones, Black Widow's one and Romanoff's one, turning them on long enough to retrieve any messages, then turning them off again.  
  
Nothing.  
  
As expected.  
  
She could get up now, with only a minimal loss to efficiency.  
  
But there's no reason to even take that much of a hit.  
  
She lays back down on the bed and closes her eyes.  
  
With the ease of practice, she's asleep again almost instantly.  
  
  
Later in the day, after she's awoken again and been conscious for over an hour, things aren't quite that simple.  
  
Natasha can still *feel* the cracks, sense the vibrations of things still grinding around within her, changing.  
  
Natasha is a construct of stability - squeeze her, and she just becomes even harder.  
  
But this isn't something she can defend against like that.  
  
This is a purely internal attack.  
  
And the usual methods of dealing with this just aren't *working*.  
  
Change has happened to her before - the decision to join SHIELD, to stop existing quite so purely as just an instrument being the largest one that she can remember.  
  
But even that had just been a smooth continuation of other, smaller, changes.  
  
It had been logical.  
  
It had made sense.  
  
This, this does not.  
  
She *wants*.  
  
It's... disconcerting.  
  
The call from Johnny, when it comes, is almost a relief.  
  
It's business, something she can concentrate on.  
  
"Yes?" Black Widow asks as she answers the phone.  
  
"You're asking for too much," he says in a rush, the words almost tripping over themselves. "We..."  
  
"Not over the phone," she says coldly.  
  
There's an audible snap, and the word flow ceases.  
  
"Where did you want to meet?" she asks. "So we can discuss this."  
  
There's a few moments pause. "Um, I can get us into Night's Kiss for this afternoon."  
  
"Unacceptable. We've already met there once." Not that she had expected better from him, but Black Widow isn't the sort to let the opportunity for a lesson slide by. Even if it's not one of the fun ones. "Be on the corner two blocks north of it in two hours’ time. I'll meet you there."  
  
  
Two hours later and he's there, pacing twitchily on the corner.   
  
She pulls up in a rented car. "Get in."  
  
He does so with satisfyingly little argument and she drives off.  
  
"So," she says after a minute of silence. "You have an answer."  
  
He swallows. "Yes. Two million. It's too much. I've been told to offer you half a mill, tops."  
  
Black Widow looks at him coldly out of the corner of her eye. "Unacceptable. These weapons are worth at least twenty million to the right customer. Maybe twice, three times that, if you manage to corner the market."  
  
*That* catches his interest. "Corner the market?"  
  
She shrugs. "There are a number of these weapons on the streets, in ones and twos. You grab them, and anyone who wants to get hold of them has to deal with you. And you get to charge what you want, without worrying about them finding some two bit thug."  
  
He looks at her suspiciously. "Nice. Why're you telling me this? You gonna help with that part too?"  
  
"If I had that much time on my hands, I wouldn't have cut you in. I just want to get my two million, and go. But if you don't want this opportunity, get out now, before you waste more of my time." Her last words come out, very intentionally, as a threat, and Johnny goes a little pallid.  
  
He doesn't ask to get out, though, and just chews his lip thoughtfully.  
  
"How much heat is this going to call down?"  
  
"Eventually? A lot. But everyone's busy enough that you should have a couple of weeks before they can really crack down."  
  
He nods, slowly. "This coming from the feds?"  
  
"You haven't paid for those kinds of details yet."  
  
He nods slowly. "I think I can find you your cash."  
  
Black Widow smiles thinly. "Good. Can you come up with it by tonight?"  
  
"You wanna move that quickly?"  
  
"This window isn't going to last for long."  
  
She can see him thinking. "Okay. I can work with that."  
  
"I'll text you at around eight tonight, with an address and a time. Be there with a crew and a truck. You're going to need to move several large crates."  
  
He smiles, relieved that this has gone so well. "Can do."  
  
"Oh, and Johnny?" her voice cuts into his relief. "Make sure that they're a group who'll do exactly what I say. No fuckups, because if there is, I'll take it out of their hide, and then..." She doesn't need to complete the sentence, and he gulps.  
  
"Understood," he says, as she pulls up about a block from where she picked him up. "Pleasure doing business with you."  
  
Black Widow sincerely doubts that.  
  
But that's alright.  
  
She's not in this business to make friends.   
  
Not those kind of friends, anyway.  
  
  
 **Pepper POV** :  
  
Around mid-morning I manage to find the time to phone the head of facilities for the Stark Tower.  
  
"Julia," I say. "How're you doing?" I ask sympathetically.  
  
"We're holding together," she replies, and I can't help noticing that she evades talking about herself. "My people have really appreciated all the support you've been offering."  
  
"Have the extra staff been working out?"  
  
"They've been great." She pauses for a second. "It was really good of you to offer extra paid leave and counselling to everyone."  
  
"It was the least I could do. You know, you could take advantage of that as well. I'm sure I could fly someone in take over for a few days."  
  
She laughs, but the sound is a world away from her usual rich tones. "No, thank you. At least here I'm doing something. Besides, I wouldn't trust anyone else to know how to look after my tower properly."  
  
"There is that," I agree. "I do have an additional, minor request to add to your already overflowing list - if you have anyone covering the fifty-fourth floor, I don't suppose they could check Tony's lab once a day or so and make sure that the rubbish isn't overflowing too badly.  
  
"You worried that you're going to lose your man to a takeout container avalanche?"  
  
It's the nearest I've heard her come to a joke since the invasion, but I can't help wincing at the reminder of my ex relationship. Even before we'd actually gotten together, back when Tony just flirted with me as the mood struck him, there'd always been rumours. About what we really did together, about how I got and how I maintained my position.  
  
When things had gone public, I was fairly sure that those rumours had just been confirmed in many minds.  
  
And when the breakup becomes common knowledge - as it is going to have to at some point, Tony's scheming aside - it's going to be seen as *my* fall from grace.  
  
Quite apart from the difficulties of working for my ex, there's going to be pressure from beneath, people who think that they are going to be able to get away with more, to bypass me to gain access to Tony, to ignore me now that I *obviously* have no more influence with the *actual* boss.  
  
And I can't help the nagging fear that they might not be entirely incorrect.  
  
But enough of such worries.  
  
That's not why I'm speaking to Julia just at the moment.  
  
"Oh, Tony's surprisingly capable of taking care of himself when faced with those kinds of threats. He does have guests, though. And JARVIS asked me to look into it."  
  
"Oh," she says, her voice flat.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"It's not that I don't appreciate having a computer keeping an eye on the building, Ms Potts," she says formally, carefully.  
  
"But?"  
  
"I didn't want to bother you with this before, but the situation is becoming more and more problematic. If I could clarify, who is actually in charge of building maintenance, JARVIS or me?"  
  
"You are, of course," I hasten to reassure her. "Though I'd appreciate it if you took JARVIS' advice into consideration - he's has access to a lot of information that flag up problems before they become serious."  
  
"Good," she says, releasing a breath.  
  
"What prompted this?"  
  
"It's been coming up with a lot of requests recently. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have a problem fulfilling them, but the way things are at the moment, the staff just doesn’t have the time. It's been getting insistent, though, even cutting in on internal building communications to address the staff directly. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't going beyond my authority overriding it."  
  
"What kind of requests?"  
  
"Mainly things like cleaning security camera lenses, repairing the lockdown mechanism on any of the doors that needed it. That kind of thing. Oh, and all the corridors have to spotless, at all times."  
  
"Oh. Well, some of those things do sound important, but I'll trust your judgment about what needs prioritising. I'll talk with JARVIS to make sure he doesn't bother you again."  
  
"I'd appreciate it," she says.  
  
We talk for a little longer, before hanging up and I'm left contemplating the phone, wondering what tack I'm going to take.  
  
If JARVIS was a human, it'd be easy.  
  
If this was more obviously a technical issue, I'd just leave it to Tony.  
  
But he doesn't seem to fit easily into either camp.  
  
And if I do pass this onto Tony, I'm fairly sure that he'll just wipe the current version from the tower's computers and do a fresh install.  
  
But if JARVIS is human enough to have these eccentricities, completely separate from any other version I've seen, doesn't that mean that I owe him at least enough to talk to him first myself?  
  
But am I really qualified to do this?  
  
Is *anyone*?  
  
It's a not unfamiliar feeling, after having spent the previous two nights talking with Natasha.  
  
And, as I try and make my decision about what to do, I can't help noticing that I haven't had a call or even a text from Tony since I left him yesterday.  
  
Silence from Tony.  
  
That's always an ominous thing.  
  
It usually means he's planning something.  
  
Which is exactly what I need at the moment.  
  
Great.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wife, Louisa (beta and writer), and I are going to be interviewed on the Femslash4Fans live internet radio show on Sunday 24th February. We're not sure of the exact time yet, but it's probably going to be starting around 8-10pm UK time, or 3-5pm EST. More details, and the podcast after it has aired can be found [here](http://www.blogtalkradio.com/allaine) , though we'll also make a post on our [livejournal](http://tamoline.livejournal.com) when we have some firm details.


End file.
